


No Longer Yours

by shemlentrash (Jess_X)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Break up sex, Crying, F/M, Post-Break Up, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_X/pseuds/shemlentrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhia Lavellan tries to continue working with Solas after he broke her heart so recently, but it turns out even the simplest encounter weighs on her like an emotional anvil - yet she is not alone in this suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Longer Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I was really sad, so I banged this story out super fast, and haven't edited it. Forgive me! This is totally shameless porn without plot. Be warned.

Rhia did not knock when she entered his study. She never had, and wasn’t about to start now. She didn’t even know if he would be there. It was very late, after all, and all her other friends had already retired for the evening hours ago. Only the ravens overhead seemed to be awake.

Solas looked up from his book, looking particularly frail in the sea of plush armchair around him. Of course he was awake. Did the man ever sleep, after all? Stupid man. For a moment, she imagined burning him, throwing him back against that chair with one of her fireballs to his thick skull – a foolish, adolescent fantasy spawned from a grown woman’s broken heart.

“Ah,” said Solas, jerking her back to reality. “Inquisitor.” He bowed his head, not smiling. The formality of it made her want to scream.

“Solas,” she replied curtly with a similar nod of her head. She kept her eyes on him.

“A little late for a visit, isn’t it? Everyone’s already gone off to bed, I believe. Was there something you needed?”

She straightened her posture, and tried to look neutral. “Yes,” she said, and knew she sounded a little cold. “I… am taking Cole and Bull with me to the Hissing Wastes in a couple of days, and I guess…” She suddenly wished she hadn’t come. She could have asked Dorian – or anyone else, really, _anyone_ – in the morning, when it was more appropriate. She should have. This was stupid. This was pointless. Inviting him on a mission with her was sure to serve no purpose but to open the fresh wound. She swallowed.

Solas put his book down and stood, and moved around his desk. He leaned against it lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you inviting me along, Inquisitor?” He quirked an eyebrow. It was amazing how he could remain so cool and expressionless. The cold-hearted bastard. Oh, how she hated him.

“I… was going to, yes.”

He shifted a little. “I do understand if you are rethinking that decision, Inquisitor.”

Rhia stiffened, feeling suddenly defensive. Did he think her so weak that she could not stand to be in his presence anymore? Never mind that he was right – it still stung that he’d believe it. “What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped. Pretense had dropped before she could stop it. It was out in the open now. Her emotions were on the table again, whether she liked it or not. The disgust in her expression was too obvious.

“Only…” Now it was Solas’ turn to look uncomfortable. “Well, Inquisitor, it’s just that…”

“Only, you thought I would be too weak to continue fighting at your side? Too enslaved to my emotions, unlike you, the King of Stoicism?”

He shook his head. “I… did not think…”

She snorted. “No, you didn’t,” she sneered. “So have you finally accepted that you broke my heart? Is that why you’ve considered that it might hurt me to be around you?”

That had done it, at least a little. She’d cracked his shell somewhat, and a hint of pain gleamed through. “I’ve always known that leaving you was cruel, and it has not escaped me that you’ve been wounded by it.”

Rolling her eyes, Rhia threw her hands up in exasperation. “You knew you were hurting me, but you did it anyway. I know it’s hurting you, too, but you did it anyway. This makes no sense to me, Solas!" Her voice was slightly shrill. "Do you think I cannot see through you at least a little? Do you think I cannot see how much it’s killing you? And never mind that Varric has told me how he catches you watching me, and moping more than usual.”

Solas sighed. “The dwarf should not interfere. This is a private matter.”

“It’s hardly just Varric who’s commented, y’know,” she said quickly. Now that she’d started, it was hard to stop. “Cole said he’d threatened you. I told him not to hurt you, but he doesn’t seem pleased by that.”

“The boy’s gotten too protective of you.”

“Oh, you mean like you used to be?”

There was a pause that lingered thickly in the air between them, suffocating them both. Solas swallowed hard. “You know I would still protect you with my life, Inquisitor.”

“Bullshit,” she spat, the fury getting the best of her.

“Vhenan…”

The Inquisitor shook her head, and raised a hand to stop him, the rage boiling just under the surface and threatening to overflow very soon. “Don’t you _dare_ call me that, Solas.”

The older elf looked as though he’d been slapped. _Good_ , she relished. “I…” he seemed to search for words while she glared at him. “I… am sorry,” he finished lamely.

Rhia was still shaking her head minutely. Her eyes were narrowed at the elf, who seemed to wilt under her gaze. “No, Solas,” she said. “If you were really sorry, you would not be doing this. There is no good reason for it. You act like you are being noble, yet – ”

“I wish that I could tell you,” Solas blurted out suddenly, the volume of his voice rising as he wrung his hands before him. She watched him closely, wary of the way some small part of her pined and longed to forgive at the sight of his distress. “I wish…” He shook his head. “I tried to tell you – ” and his words cracked as he choked them out. “– That day I freed you of your valaslin. I tried to tell you. I meant to tell you. It was why I took you there.”

Her heart ached. She felt pulled to him again as she always had. Unthinking, she took a step towards him. “So tell me now,” she said desperately, immediately hating herself. She had wanted to be strong, as was her usual way. She had wanted to accept his rejection and move on. She had not wanted to become this person, pleading to try again, begging for him to take her back. This was not the kind of person she was. But the time for that had past now, with that moment of weakness. It was too late, and the longing she’d articulated in her voice now sat on thin ice between them. Sounding uncharacteristically small, she went on, resigned to her own pitiful weakness. “I don’t understand why you cannot just tell me, Solas. This is _me_. You have always trusted me, and I, you. I am the Inquisitor. I have so much at my disposal. I could help you.”

“No – Inquisitor, I’m sorry.” And he really did look it. That made it all so much worse. “I do trust you, my love, but this – “ They both looked stricken at his words. It was too easy to speak to each other with such affection. It was so natural. He swallowed. “This is something that cannot be helped. This is not even my secret to tell. This effects so much more than myself, more than you – more, even, than the Inquisition. Again: I am truly sorry.”

Her wide eyes were very wet, and she felt her pulse in her throat as he took a step forward.

“Please,” he said softly. “Do not cry, ma vhenan.”

She sniffled. “I told you not to call me that,” she croaked. He closed his eyes, full of regret. “You don’t get to break me like this and then continue to call me your heart.”

Solas bowed his head. “I respect your wish,” he said solemnly. “But know that you are still, and will always be, my heart.”

Her shoulders shook in a silent sob, and she hung her head, not wanting him to see her cry.

“I should not have said that,” he said frantically. “I am so sorry. Forgive me.” His feet came into her line of vision, and she felt his hands – damn it, his _hands_ – in her hair. She sighed instinctively at the touch. She was so hungry for it. “Please, forgive me, Inquisitor. I should have known better. It was I who said this was an emotional entanglement that needed to be severed, and yet it is I who foolishly is making things worse by saying things like that. Forgive me. Forgive me.” His voice faltered. She looked up. His eyes were squeezed shut, but his lashes were damp. He was crying, too. She reached up and touched his cheek, and he leaned into her palm like a tired, lonely animal. “It is… so difficult to remain detached from you… so difficult to keep objective. I…” He shook his head, and she felt his fingers tighten against her scalp.

She knew it was instinctive – clenching his fists to stem the emotional wave – but balling his fists into her hair was not exactly doing much for his cause. The sting of the gesture made her whimper, and she bit her lip fearfully as his eyes snapped open, wide, staring, starved. They fell upon her mouth, consuming the sight greedily. “I…” he said again.

“Stop,” she whispered, but she sounded very far away from herself. She wanted to move her hand from his face, willed herself to withdraw – but instead she found her thumb gently tracing small circles against his skin. His breath came in short bursts, lips parted – pale, cracked, but slightly wet. Before her reason could catch up with her instinct, her thumb brushed across his lower lip. It was so pretty. She wanted…

He leaned into her, pressing his mouth against her palm, and she had to shut her eyes. She could not watch. She was losing all her resolve. It was too painful. ”Stop,” she said again. She did not mean it. Oh, by the Creators, she didn’t mean it one bit. _More_ , she wanted to shout. _Please, Solas. More_.

Then his lips were gone from her hand, and she opened her eyes again. There was a tear on his face. This was the second time she’d seen him cry – the first being shortly after the death of his friend. But this time it was so different. This time, she felt personally slighted by the tear. That he could hurt her so badly and then have the gall to cry himself was infuriating. That he could make her heart reach out to him in empathy, desperate to comfort, even after what he’d done – was maddening. Ridiculous. Unthinkable. 

“Stop,” she said for the third time, but this time, they both knew she meant something different. “Don’t cry.”

He breathed a momentary laugh. “I believe that was my line.” His smile was watery and unstable, and she touched it thoughtlessly, tracing the line of his mouth with all her fingers as though she could understand something by learning its shape.

He planted another kiss to her fingertips. _Damn it_.

She moved slightly closer. Their bodies flush, his heat bleeding through her, cooking her mind so she had no room left in her head but for the taste of his breath on her face. “Solas,” she sighed through a fresh wave of anguish.

It was impossible to know who moved first, but the gap between them closed, and suddenly Rhia was inhaling the older elf’s lips and tongue as though they were her life’s blood, and Solas’ hands were grasping at her head and the back of her neck to pull her close as though without her he would die.

She drank in his eager groan, the sound of a man starved and finally satiated – greedy, frantic, anxious. She, too, was moaning against his mouth, and they tasted one another’s desperation with such fervor that the kiss was quickly becoming mostly an angry gnashing of teeth, all clumsy passion and love gone sour.

Hands were roaming over her back, pressing her close, and she felt her breasts swell against Solas’ chest. Her rapid heartbeat thundered against his chest, and she could feel his pulse through her own body, too. As it had once been, so it was again that it became difficult to tell where one elf ended and the other began.

His lips trailed away from hers, swollen and sore, and she gasped as they found her jaw – then her neck, then the sensitive spot at the hollow of her collarbone that always made her shiver. She gripped him as he bit into her with a growl, and keened. He moaned against her flesh at such a sound. One hand was still in her hair yanking her head back, holding her fast so she would not squirm.

“Please,” she rasped. “Creators, _please_. Solas. P- plea- ” But she could not finish. His tongue was tracing the line of her shoulder, torturing her, and her quiet sighs and moans burst into loud, quaking cries that echoed through the chamber, provoking a flutter of black wings and a cacophony of ravens above them.

Solas snarled against her, bent his knees slightly, wrapped an arm around her middle, and lifted her from the ground a few inches, still lavishing her collar with his mouth. She squealed and clung to him, allowing him to turn and walk with her in his grasp. When her bottom collided with his desk, however, he let go, and she gasped. He kissed up her neck, finding her mouth again, and she took his lips again feeling full of joy as well as sorrow. Was this supposed to be another goodbye? Was this the last time?

She scooted back on his desk, paying no mind to the research she was sitting on. She heard him brush some papers aside, and a couple of books clattered to the floor in a rustle of old pages. She groaned, snaking her fingers into his belt and tugging him close to stand between her legs. The soft noises of lust he emitted sent jolts of mixed excitement through her. One hand combed her hair as the other found her breast, and she moaned loudly again, letting go of his mouth to throw her head back for a moment, overwhelmed by something as simple as his touch through the fabric of her tunic. She hated herself for it. Hated his fingers. Hated his mouth. Needed it. Needed it so badly.

“Please,” she whispered again. “Solas. Please.”

This time, her insistence stirred something violent in him, and suddenly the last month had not happened. Suddenly, it was as it had always been, and one hand was at her throat while the other sunk beneath her breeches to press unabashedly against her dampening center.

“Please,” she repeated. She sounded so weak, and it made him hard. She felt him, pulsing against her inner thigh, and she hissed.

Desperate, wild, she began to urgently pick at the tie around his waist. “Solas,” she said again – a whine, this time. A submissive plea.

He grinned against her mouth. The heat and color was rising in both of them, and she wanted more than anything to remove the stifling layer of clothing between them. It was driving her mad.

It seemed that Solas was facing the same dilemma, and he wasted no time. First, her shirt – tugged deftly over her head by practiced hands that moved quickly onto her breeches once the tunic hit the floor. Rhia was panting as his fingers worked, while her own clumsy grasp struggled at the knot of his trousers with difficulty. He laughed sweetly and helped her.

Before disrobing himself, Solas took her breeches in hand and yanked them unceremoniously down her thighs. With a hand at her chest, he pushed her, so her shoulders blades hit the desk and stuck to a stray bit of parchment. She waited – squirming, anxious – as he finally slid the linen past her calves and over her feet. She’d barely noticed, so skilled was he, that Solas had slipped her smalls away in one sweep with her trousers. Incredible. She now lay naked on his desk, vulnerable, aching, toes curling with anticipation and fingers grasping the edge of the wood ‘til her knuckles went white.  She pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch him removing his own trousers, and bit her lip. It ran deep, her attraction to this man. The curve of his lean legs, his lithe shape and jutting hipbones – it struck her hard, possessing her.

She was so in love with him, and she was so lonely; so angry; and Creators forgive her, she was so wet.

“Fuck me,” she breathed, eyes settling on the place where his over-long tunic was tented. “Creators, Solas – please, fuck me.”

He did not bother with his shirt. The lack of contact was causing both of them to itch, like wanting addicts. It was agonizing to be apart, and when he finally crawled atop her, they both sighed in relief. They were smiling drunkenly, heavily sedated by the stupor of love gone unchecked for so long.

Neither had smiled this way in over a month. It filled them. Overcame them. They could not wait any longer.

Solas settled between her thighs as Rhia lifted her knees to make the space for him. She hoisted the hem of his shirt around his waist, and dug her fingers into his hips. Begging again would be unnecessary now. Her shining eyes did it for her. _Please_. _Solas, Please_.

They joined in one swift effortless motion, and she cried out as he stretched her. She had almost forgotten how he felt, almost forgotten the way he strained and bruised her insides with the size of him. Adjusting to it was second nature by now, though, and her eyes rolled back as she spread her legs more to accept him completely and let the satisfaction roll through her.

His head went limp against her shoulder, so she could not see his face. His hips began to move rapidly, too eager, too greedy to have any patience. She loved it, clawing her nails into his worn tunic as the pleasure gripped her, knotting and tightening in her belly. Her moans enveloped him in just the way that his heat blanketed her. It was ecstasy, for both of them.

The hand in her hair was tight, and the pain in her scalp added to the excitement. His other hand, however, was clenched into a fist on the desk beside her, knuckles taught, pallid fingers trembling. She worried, for a moment, and reached up without thinking, to cover it with her palm. He made a strange noise, and nuzzled further into her shoulder so that she could feel his wet cheeks on her neck. Her heart twanged painfully. “Solas, emma lath,” she said between moans. She did not think about it. It was as natural as breathing. It hurt, but she could not take it back.

“Vhenan.” The word came out in a single choked sob, muffled by her skin.

 With a strangled cry she flung her arms around him. The tears seemed to feed their passion, and with every thrust she felt her heart ache dully. “Emma lath,” she said again, crying openly now. He pulled his head from her shoulder, eyes blurry with tears, and pressed his mouth against hers fervently.

He devoured Rhia’s lips and tongue like she was the air he breathed. “Vhenan,” he whispered against her mouth between kisses and breaths. “Vhenan. _Vhenan_.” A mantra. A prayer. An apology. Their dance was coated in tears and sweat but fueled by despair, and it was frenzied. Consuming. Dangerous.

His hands were everywhere. He scraped along every plane of her flesh that he could reach, grazing red stains into her arms and digging bruises into her hips with his pounding.

She yelped with every thrust as his pace quickened. It hurt – slick, soft, easy, it was, but it was sore just from accommodating him. She loved that. Cherished it. Would probably be resentful of it tomorrow. Their hips clashed angrily and her body protested but she leaned up into him, gasping in high-pitched sighs with every fluid motion he made. Wordlessly, she begged for more: more touch, more closeness, more pain, more love, more time.

Solas’ mouth was wide, breathing heavily, brow furrowed against hers, eyes closed. His body moved effortlessly above her, it seemed, his muscles working expertly to keep his rapid speed. She held him close, thighs clamped around his waist and hands curled into the wide expanse of his back. She clung, never wanting to let go, hoping this would go on forever. He felt so good. So fucking good inside. Steaming. Hot. Wet. Bubbling.

Orgasm racked her, and she shrieked his name to the open ceiling. It echoed, and they seemed to drown under the potent force of his name on her lips. It was a sound that made him full with ecstasy and pain all at once, and his resulting moan – as she clenched around him, hard – was punctuated with another sob.

She was sweating as she came, magic boiling between her fingertips. Waves of pleasure swam in her belly, and as she kissed him fervently in the glow of the high, Solas’ body went rigid. At his next thrust, he held deep within her, and then shuddered. He cried out, and she inhaled sharply, tasting his breath, feeling the vibration of his long moan against her soft lips. He spent thoroughly inside her, filling her up – deep, warm, messy, wonderful.

“Vhenan,” he sighed again, thrusting very lightly now, slowly, as though making sure he’d spilled every last drop; as though her body were sacred and he wanted her to have everything he could give. She pulled him in tight with her heels on his buttocks, as though to tell him she wanted to waste none of it, least of all this time with him.

Especially if it was to be the last...

 Her heart sank. Was this it?

All of a sudden, reality crashed down upon them like a downpour. What a terrible idea this had been. She watched the unguarded regret creep over his features, and cringed, burying her face in his shoulder as the tears rolled on. She loved him so much, and now – well, now everything just hurt so much more.

Still, they did not move. He went soft slowly, and slipped out of her, but he did not move otherwise, and they allowed his mess to drip from between her legs and stain his desk. Neither elf wanted to be the one to initiate this goodbye. It was too hard.

The much older elf’s fingers played lazily in the Inquisitor’s hair while she drew patterns across his back. Both were crying in silence, separate of one another, not wanting to exacerbate the pain by sharing it.

It was Solas who finally pushed himself up onto his hands, and moved away from her. She rested on her elbows again to watch him crawl backwards off the desk and stand aimlessly beside it, staring at their discarded clothes. His frown was deep, and his forehead was thickly lined in deliberation. He did not speak. After a minute, he scooped up his trousers.

Following his lead, Rhia slid off the desk, smearing semen across the polished wood, and searched for her smallclothes. In total silence, Solas peeled a sheet of parchment from her upper back that she had not remembered was there.

He was dressed far quicker than she, as her tunic had so many buttons. As she worked them from the bottom up, Solas’ eyes lingered wistfully on her breasts. She took her time, allowing him the pleasure of seeing her pert nipples one last time, the pale flesh around them completely painted in his fingernail scratches. But like all things, the moment ended. There can only be so many buttons on one shirt, and there can only be so many days to any period of joy. Nothing lasts forever.

They stared at each other. The only sound was from the birds flapping noisily overhead, but that was nothing to the deafening screams of their hearts – furious with themselves, with each other, and with the circumstances outside of their control.

She did not know what to say or do. She felt numb. He, too, seemed – for once – at a loss for words.

Solas wanted to regain his composure and tell her that he would be there for her to defeat Corypheus but that was all he could ever be to her again – yet after what had transpired between them, it was so much harder. He cursed his lack of judgment. Surely it would end up ruining everything.

Rhia cleared her throat. At the sound, his ears perked up, but he went very pale. Feeling grounded by the discomfort of his semen dampening her clothes, she shifted her weight from one hip to the other, and took a breath to speak. “So,” she began, and then felt very stupid. “You’ll come to the Hissing Wastes with us when we go, will you?” She felt sick to her stomach.

He gave her a single professional nod, and bowed slightly. “Of course, Inquisitor.” He sounded rather out of breath, and she noticed his chest was still heaving the way it did after a battle. Oh, his delicious chest. Creators, how she wished she could have touched it bare tonight.

No. She could not think about this night anymore. It should never have happened. She had to be strong. Conjuring up the image of Solas with a fireball in his face again, she smiled dreamily. She did not really wish him dead, but still somehow it helped remind her of what he had done to her, and as such, that it was time to let go. It made it no easier, and she wasn’t by any means ready to move on, but it steeled her resolve to at least end this torturous encounter. It was just too heavy.

“Right,” she said. She nodded once. They stared at each other again. The air was thick with their silence, and his secrets.

He took a step towards her, and this time she took a step back. “Vhenan,” he began, but she held up a hand to quiet him. She did not need to say it. His face twisted, and she knew he was agonized by this as much as she was. Good. She was glad.

She kept her eyes locked on him as she backed away a few more paces. _You hurt me, and I hate you for it. You did this to yourself as well as to me, and your pain is deserved_ , she hoped her look conveyed.

But all he read from her before she finally turned and exited in silence, was: _I wish you would change your mind. I wish you would ask me to stay. I miss you. I need you. I love you_.


End file.
